


Fireworks

by coveredbyroses



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-25
Updated: 2019-07-25
Packaged: 2020-07-19 21:14:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19980589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coveredbyroses/pseuds/coveredbyroses
Summary: Just a little smluff piece for the 4th. Written last year.





	Fireworks

You can feel the cool glass of Baby’s windshield through the fabric of your faded t-shirt as you gaze up at the multi-colored bursts lighting up the Nebraska night sky.

Fireworks have always made you happy; maybe it’s the childhood memory of twirling around your parents’ front lawn, fizzing sparkler clutched in your small hand, or maybe it’s the distraction—there’s no ghosts, no demons, no monsters to worry about—here, you can just…exist, can disappear from the horrors of your job as you lie underneath the colorful flashes and bangs.

“This was a good idea, kid,” Dean says, climbing onto the glossy hood to slide up next to you, long fingers curled around a fresh beer. “I’m glad ya dragged me out here.”

“Me too,” you smile, reaching for his free hand to intertwine your fingers with his.

You and Dean have just finished a simple salt-and-burn, the spirit finally put to rest and small town saved—at least for the moment. You’d caught wind of the local 4th of July celebration while grabbing lunch, had begged Dean to take you after finishing up at the cemetery.

You roll your head to look at Dean; long lashes flutter against his cheekbones as he blinks, face lighting up in a myriad of colors mirroring the explosions above, lips curled up in a soft smile as he marvels at the show.

You scoot closer, nestling a knee in between his, releasing his hand to smooth your palm up his warm, broad chest. “Ya know,” you say, craning your head to nuzzle into his neck, “we’ve never fucked underneath fireworks before…”

Dean leans to the side, raises an eyebrow as he lifts his chin to gaze down at you, “No,” he says, lazy grin blooming slow across his face, “we haven’t.”

“Hmm, we should rectify that,” you quip, capturing your lower lip between your teeth.

Dean doesn’t say anything, eyes never leaving yours as he lifts the beer bottle over his head, sliding it up on Baby’s blemishless roof behind him. “We should,” he agrees, reaching a hand down to tuck your hair behind your ear, fingertips leaving a burning trail against your skin.

You sit up, knocking Dean’s hand back to his lap as you grip the hem of your shirt, peeling it off to discard it somewhere on the grass behind you.

“Fuck,” the hunter breathes, brushing a wide thumb over the lacy cup of your bra,

“God bless America.”


End file.
